Arundhati Roy

The year is 1969. In the state of Kerala, on the southernmost tip of India, a skyblue Plymouth with chrome tailfins is stranded on the highway amid a Marxist workers' demonstration. Inside the car sit two-egg twins Rahel and Esthappen, and so begins their tale. . . .

Armed only with the invincible innocence of children, they fashion a childhood for themselves in the shade of the wreck that is their family--their lonely, lovely mother, Ammu (who loves by night the man her children love by day), their blind grandmother, Mammachi (who plays Handel on her violin), their beloved uncle Chacko (Rhodes scholar, pickle baron, radical Marxist, bottom-pincher), their enemy, Baby Kochamma (ex-nun and incumbent grandaunt), and the ghost of an imperial entomologist's moth (with unusually dense dorsal tufts).

When their English cousin, Sophie Mol, and her mother, Margaret Kochamma, arrive on a Christmas visit, Esthappen and Rahel learn that Things Can Change in a Day. That lives can twist into new, ugly shapes, even cease forever, beside their river "graygreen."  With fish in it. With the sky and trees in it. And at night, the broken yellow moon in it.

The brilliantly plotted story uncoils with an agonizing sense of foreboding and inevitability. Yet nothing prepares you for what lies at the heart of it.

The God of Small Things takes on the Big Themes--Love. Madness. Hope. Infinite Joy. Here is a writer who dares to break the rules. To dislocate received rhythms and create the language she requires, a language that is at once classical and unprecedented. Arundhati Roy has given us a book that is anchored to anguish, but fueled by wit and magic.
--front flap

The God of Small Things

sazha 

Seakan-akan jendela tempat menghilangnya sang ayah tetap dibiarkan terbuka, sehingga setiap orang yang ingin masuk disambut dengan baik

y✦

What Esthappen and Rahel witnessed that morning, though they didn't know it then, was a clinical demonstration in controlled conditions (this was not war after all, or genocide) of human nature's pursuit of ascendancy. Structure. Order. Complete monopoly. It was human history, masquerading as God's Purpose, revealing herself to an under-age audience.

my mid-life crisis is going to look like this. bet.

She wore flowers in her hair and carried magic secrets in her eyes. She spoke to no one. She spent hours on the riverbank with her little plastic transistor shaped like a tangerine. She smoked cigarettes and had midnight swims.

ㅤㅤ

They were not arresting a man, they were exorcising fear.

Man’s subliminal urge to destroy what he could neither subdue nor deify. Men’s Needs.

Somehow, by not mentioning his name, she knew that she had drawn him into the tousled intimacy of that blue cross-stitch afternoon and the song from the tangerine transistor.

It would have helped if they could have made that crossing. If only they could have worn, even temporarily, the tragic hood of victimhood. Then they would have been able to put a face on it, and conjure up fury at what had happened. Or seek redress. And eventually, perhaps, exorcize the memories that haunted them. But anger wasn’t available to them and there was no face to put on this Other Thing that they held in their sticky Other Hands, like an imaginary orange. There was nowhere to lay it down. It wasn’t theirs to give away. It would have to be held. Carefully and forever.

Rahel thought she looked like a Roman Senator. Et tu, Ammu? she thought and smiled, remembering Estha.

Estha’s full name was Esthappen Yako. Rahel’s was Rahel. For the Time Being they had no surname because Ammu was considering reverting to her maiden name, though she said that choosing between her husband’s name and her father’s name didn’t give a woman much of a choice.

It is curious how sometimes the memory of death lives on for so much longer than the memory of the life that it purloined.

Nica Rhiana

 They chose him because they knew that they had to put their faith in fragility. Stick to Smallness. Each time they parted, they extracted only one small promise from each other. 

They knew that things could change in a day. They were right about that.

The Big Things ever lurked inside. They knew that there was nowhere for them to go. They had Nothing. No future. So they stuck to the small things.

It was human history, masquerading as God’s purpose, revealing herself to an under-age audience.

Riley Baker

Because the way I see the world does not allow people to let themselves off the hook, it leaves little space for pleading innocence. And it’s uncomfortable to face the fact that all of us are complıcit in what's going on- victims as well as perpetrators.. ... 

She could feel herself through him. Her skin. The way her body existed only where he touched her. The rest of her was smoke.

Chacko needed his mother's adoration. Indeed, he demanded it, yet he despised her for it and punished her in secret ways. 

She was perhaps too young to realize that what she assumed was her love for Chacko was actually a tentative, timorous acceptance of herself.

It didn't matter that the story had begun, because kathakali dis- covered long ago that the secret of the Great Stories is that they have no secrets. The Great Stories are the ones you have heard and want to hear again. The ones you can enter anywhere and inhabit comfortably. They don't deceive you with thrills and trick endings. They don't surprise you with the unforeseen. They are as familiar as the house you live in. Or the smell of your lover's skin. You know how they end, yet you listen as though you don't. In the way that al- though you know that one day you will die, you live as though you won't. In the Great Stories you know who lives, who dies, who finds love, who doesn't. And yet you want to know again. 

Once the quietness arrived, it stayed and spread in Estha. It reached out of his head and enfolded him in its swampy arms. It rocked him to the rhythm of an ancient, fetal heartbeat. It sent its stealthy, suckered tentacles inching along the insides of his skull, hoovering the knolls and dells of his memory, dislodging old sen- tences, whisking them off the tip of his tongue. It stripped his thoughts of the words that described them and left them pared and naked. Unspeakable. Numb. And to an observer therefore, perhaps barely there. Slowly, over the years, Estha withdrew from the world. He grew accustomed to the uneasy octopus that lived inside him and squirted its inky tranquilizer on his past. Gradually the reason for his silence was hidden away, entombed somewhere deep in the soothing folds of the fact of it.

And when we try and listen, all we hear is a whispering. And we cannot understand the whispering, because our minds have been invaded by a war. A war that we have won and lost. The very worst sort of war. A war that captures dreams and re-dreams them. A war that has made us adore our conquerors and despise ourselves. 

Chacko told the twins that though he hated to admit it, they were all Anglophiles. They were a family of Anglophiles. Pointed in the wrong direction, trapped outside their own history, and unable to retrace their steps because their footprints had been swept away.

Dora Tominic

She laughed out loud at the idea of walking naked down Ayemenem with an array of coloured toothbrushes sticking out from either cheek of her bottom. She silenced herself quickly. She saw a wisp of madness escape from its bottle and caper triumphantly around the bathroom.

The early rumblings of discontent, concealed under a thick layer of loyalty.

Rheanne Wong 

Still, to say that it all began when Sophie Mol came to Ayemenem is only one way of looking at it . . . It could be argued that it actually began thousands of years ago. Long before the Marxists came. Before the British took Malabar, before the Dutch Ascendancy, before Vasco da Gama arrived, before the Zamorin’s conquest of Calicut. Before Christianity arrived in a boat and seeped into Kerala like tea from a teabag. That it really began in the days when the Love Laws were made. The laws that lay down who should be loved, and how. And how much.

Maureen

"He folded his fear into a perfect rose. He held it out in the palm of his hand. She took it from him and put it in her hair.”


***

I dropped this book midway last year and decided to pick it up again. During these past two days, I've come to appreciate its lyrical prose. The writing is unlike anything I've ever read, so it took me some time to get used to. Nevertheless, it's what makes the book so special. The plot is also nonlinear so there were plenty of things that confused me at the start—but as I came to the end of the novel, I was surprised at how much Roy had revealed from the onset. 

I also loved how the book tackled systemic issues like prejudice against the lower castes and women's oppression. I'd like to believe the ending was Roy's attempt at offering a salve after everything that happened. It also clarified the title for me—which is one of the prettiest I've come across. Overall The God of Small things is a sad, beautiful, and tragic story that I'll find myself thinking about again in the years to come.

This was a tough read. I love poetry and I love prose but this middle flowery space was hard for me to connect with. Overall the plot was interesting but with the way it was told, it negates my appeal.

Brynn Sklar

ineke

Quite honestly I know I didn’t give this book a fair go. The way it’s written is beautiful and I love the insight we get into the lives of all the characters — but I just couldn’t get fully immersed into it. 

It’s 100% because of exam stress and how i’ve been switching between books and never focused solely on this book. 

I wanna give it another chance at some point later in life because i KNOW this is a phenomenal book and i KNOW i didn’t give it the chance it deserved but for now all i can give it is a 2 star.

my god. this book is beautiful in ways i struggle to comprehend and articulate. must reread must reread…

iris 

amazing storytellling, heartbreaking, a little uncomfortable but mindblowing.

Taha

Review
This book was an extremely challenging read for me, I did not expect to give this book above 3 stars, and considered abandoning it multiple times. I only continued because I was reading it for a book club. I am so glad I did.  

The book is written in a non-linear fashion, revisiting events from different perspectives, revealing a little more every time. But not in a murder mystery way. It feels like you are lost, missing context the whole time - this is part of the experience, but it makes it a difficult book to get into.

The writing style is beautiful and poetic, without becoming overly grandiose for the sake of it - this was a criticism I had for Ocean Voung's On Earth We Are Briefly Gorgeous. In fact, if you liked Voung's novel - I would argue that this is similar in style (and in certain themes), but done a whole lot better.

For a few chapters, I felt so disoriented by the writing style, I resorted to reading a chapter summary afterwards. I think this was more because I was reading the novel casually, a couple pages on the tube etc, rather than any flaw in the writing. 

Once I realised that the novel demanded a close reading, I enjoyed it a lot more. The form and content of the writing do not always help guide the reader. Small, insignificant things, are given paragraphs and pages while major plot points are sometimes mentioned in passing. After a while, I learnt to appreciate that this was part of the experience.

Only the Small Things are ever said. Big Things lurk unsaid inside.
― Arundhati Roy, The God of Small Things
There are recurring motifs that end up explaining or illustrating the events of the novel, some of which I loved and others I found to be a little overcooked. These motifs sometimes meant that it is hard to follow along if you read this over a long period of time. The book was most rewarding when I read large chunks in a single sitting. When I left it for too long, I would lose the ability to connect details and descriptions across different chapters.

I enjoyed how incredibly human the story was, while being interwoven with the place and era it was writing about. Many times, I felt prompted me to google the history or politics of Kerala, India and wonder about my own relationship to the Indian sub-continent. I found the novel to be rich with themes and discussions of big ideas in understated ways which I initially didn't appreciate but now that I have finished the book - I can't stop thinking about. 

Given this book is revered in literary circles, there is a fair bit of analysis of the writing and themes which I would also recommend reading afterwards. This is 100% a book that I would gain a lot more value from on a second and third reading. However, given I had to exert myself to follow it the text, the experience was not leisurely, so I don't see myself re-reading this anytime soon. I think that this was a little bit above my reading level which is good as I want to develop as a reader after completely abandoning fiction at the age of 15 but perhaps a bit too challenging for me too want to reread just yet.

Would HIGHLY recommend this book and can see myself giving it 5 stars on a reread, but I couldn't give it 5 stars as I didn't LOVE the experience of reading it given my underdeveloped reading level.
Recommend to a friend? Yes
Read again? Yes
Inspired me to create? Yes
Filled me with the inescapable dread that I will never be able to make something as good as this? Yes

lamia 

The God of Small Things is a masterpiece about how love, family, politics, and religion effect a family in Aymanam, India. It is a heartbreaking story. The memories and scenery in this novel feel very real and personal. You're bound to relate to the characters. The entire book flips back and forth through the family's past and the present. It's interesting because the more you read about their past, you understand the significance of Rahel and Estha's reunion. This book will leave you thinking about your own childhood, family, relationships, losses, and personal despair. I'm buying my own copy to keep, and recommend you to read it as well.

The small things. And the really big things.

In The God of Small Things, Arundhati Roy is not afraid to paint her sceneries with vivid color, details that feast the senses, incredible language, and well-written characters. 

The plot is staggered, set to its own tempo; each minor and major event cascades into perfect climaxes with Roy's masterful push-and-pull storytelling, almost like muddy waters moving against the river's currents.

The small things, fragments of life shared between the characters, are memorable in a light and almost comedic way. In hindsight, I shouldn't have found them that funny; there were bigger parallels in store. Each character tests their own personal limits at some point in the book, leading up to major catastrophic events that would change their lives forever.

For me, this is a tale of seasons. That there are endings to little graces; that there are expiry dates to what little innocence we borrow for little whiles; that we are always in a state of transition — best be prepared than nothing, right? Right? We forget that some things are out of our hands; the God of Fate, the Gods of Small and Big Things, the God of Loss do not discriminate.

I don't regret picking up this preloved book at a thrift shop that day; it's definitely up there on my most memorable reads.

The small things. And the really big things.

In The God of Small Things, Arundhati Roy is not afraid to paint her sceneries with vivid color, details that feast the senses, incredible language, and well-written characters. 

The plot is staggered, set to its own tempo; each minor and major event cascades into perfect climaxes with Roy's masterful push-and-pull storytelling, almost like muddy waters moving against the river's currents.

The small things, fragments of life shared between the characters, are memorable in a light and almost comedic way. In hindsight, I shouldn't have found them that funny; there were bigger parallels in store. Each character tests their own personal limits at some point in the book, leading up to major catastrophic events that would change their lives forever.

For me, this is a tale of seasons. That there are endings to little graces; that there are expiry dates to what little innocence we borrow for little whiles; that we are always in a state of transition — best be prepared than nothing, right? Right? We forget that some things are out of our hands; the God of Fate, the Gods of Small and Big Things, the God of Loss do not discriminate.

I don't regret picking up this preloved book at a thrift shop that day; it's definitely up there on my most memorable reads.

azliana aziz

definitely not one you read in a rush. roy writes with wit and wryness that expound quiet a lot of chuckles from me while reading. a feat considering this book is not about happiness or something like that at all. in fact i thought roy hated majority of her characters. the disdain really jumped out. i love this.

Zachary Tan

It’s not bad, and it’s playful with form. Maybe read it if you’re having too good of a day and don’t want to anymore.

Laura Mauler

A hard read because the anticipation of disaster was so prolonged, getting to be a little emotionally exhausting.

Winona 

It's impossible for me to put into words just how this book made me feel. It was a roller-coaster of emotions -- but I even enjoyed the lows. There's something just so comforting about Arundhati Roy's prose: it envelopes you in a warm hug when you're in your the depths of despair. But at the same time it's so stark. It pulls no punches in conveying the brutality, and hypocrisy, that permeates the society in  The God of Small Things . I ought to reread it. Maybe then will I be able to do this book some justice with a review.

The average rating is far too low though.

The god of small things

Isabella

this book ! what a Book ! it'll never fail to move me

A standing ovation from the audience. "The God of Small Things" is the kind of novel that comes about once in a generation, that defines a cultural conversation and becomes an instant classic.

Throughout Roy demonstrates great mastery of the language. Her prose draws you in, with a lovely and engaging turn of phrase. In spite of the non-linear narrative and the thread-bare plot, the novel never feels like it drags on. It is a study of a family and of a society.

A standing ovation from the audience. "The God of Small Things" is the kind of novel that comes about once in a generation, that defines a cultural conversation and becomes an instant classic.

Throughout Roy demonstrates great mastery of the language. Her prose draws you in, with a lovely and engaging turn of phrase. In spite of the non-linear narrative and the thread-bare plot, the novel never feels like it drags on. It is a study of a family and of a society.

Colleen

Well. That was completely disappointing. While it was a tragic story, I felt no empathy for the characters. The writing style was chaotic. The story jumped around so much that it was extremely difficult to maintain interest. And there really was no plot. I had to make myself finish this. My low rating is due to my level of disappointment.

Details with lots of big spoilers:
(view spoiler)[The God of Small Things starts with a brief (very brief!) background on the main characters: twins Rahel and Estha. Then it jumps to their cousin's funeral. From there you are hauled on a tedious, roundabout explanation of the events that led to Sophie Mol's death.

The first couple of chapters offer a confusing start. The story introduces a large number of characters, some of whom have almost no bearing on the story and could have easily been left out. Exorbitantly detailed histories are given on unknown characters leaving one floundering to figure out who the person is, how they relate to the main characters, and if the information in their biographies is important or not. I was completely bogged down trying to figure out who was who and what was going on. You would be learning about a person, then randomly be told about their death only to find out much, much later that their death really would have nothing to do with the story.

On top of that, the story jumps around erratically throughout the decades. Switches are made with no segues or explanations. You just have to figure out where you are on the timeline. Since the narrative flails around even within sections, I found it almost impossible to keep track of things. You're in the present; you're twenty years in the past; you're being told details about some random memory that occurred at an unspecified time. With all of the kamikaze jumping around, it took me most of the book to realize that there wasn't really a plot. Certainly, something happened. A series of events and actions that I supposed could be called a plot. But since you are told what's going to happen from the beginning - and slowly along the way lots of other events are spoiled by their own story - I expected the journey to that point to be stronger and more emotionally moving.

Any character development was obscured by the lurching timeline. In the end you only have a vague outline of what caused the twins to become like they are. Which is ridiculous considering how many details you are given about everything else in the story.

Something about the style reminded me of A High Wind in Jamaica. Maybe because it was a tragic story told though a child's chaotic mind. There were brief moments where I like Roy's style, the raw almost-but-not-quite poetic feel, so even well into the book I hoped that it would get better. But it failed to impress. The chaotic, childlike narration didn't make sense because it wasn't really the children who were narrating. Even on the parts that were about only adults were told in the same juvenile, almost nonsensical style. And did I really need to hear Rahel's ponytail mentioned so many times??

There were other parts where the writing was filled with short, choppy sentences and fragments. Admittedly, it drives me nuts when this type of writing is overused. And The God of Small Things is full of that type of writing. It took an already off-putting story and made it even harder to connect to. Take for example the very first paragraph of the book:

"May in Ayemenem is a hot, brooding month. The days are long and humid. The river shrinks and black crows gorge on bright mangoes in still, dustgreen trees. Red bananas ripen. Jackfruits burst."

The writing was also very vulgar. It wasn't just the horrible things that happened, but the details throughout the whole book were saturated with crude descriptions. I have never read a book that talked about balls so much! They were talked about metaphorically. They were talked about literally. A male (whether human or animal) could hardly be mentioned without some comment about his testicles. The example that most sticks out in my mind was a disturbing passage describing looking at reflections in a dying dog's testicles. I would gladly scrub that from my memory banks if at all possible! The raw vulgarity might have been passable if it was merely used in the "bad" passages (such as Estha's molestation - hey I told you this would have spoilers; no complaining!), but the entire story was saturated with it. Another example: WARNING: GRAPHIC! 

(view spoiler)[Rahel watched Estha with the curiosity of a mother watching her wet child. A sister a brother. A woman a man. A twin a twin.
She flew these several kites at once.
He was a naked stranger met in a chance encounter. He was the one who had once led her (swimming) through their lovely mother's c*nt. (hide spoiler)]

WTF?

The story was also not as culturally intricate or elaborative as I was hoping. I Love to read about other cultures and far away places. It was the main reason I picked up this book. Although it did talk about the prejudices of the caste system, I never felt any spark. It didn't feel genuine.

The story also starts out with some magical realism that went nowhere. I was intrigued (and confused) by the opening section of Sophie Mol's funeral where it talks about Rahel seeing things from her dead cousins perspective, being told things by her. But other than some twin ESP, absolutely nothing comes of that thread.

I had a complete lack of emotional involvement. The parts of the "History" were told in such arbitrary, muddled fashion that I could never empathize with any of it. The parts set in present day concern people so emotional shut off and repressed that they were monotonous.

And now I am going to spoil the ending. It was a stupid ending that resolved NOTHING. The short version is that after reminiscing internally about their tragic lives, the twins commit incest (twincest! Kudos to whomever coined that term.) That's the end of their narrative. No resolution. No epilogue. No clue as to how their lives turn out. Then the story jumped back and focused on the mother who was hardly more than a tertiary catalyst throughout the rest of the book. For some reason, Roy ends the story with a graphic description of their mother have sex with one of the workers. I had a total WTF? moment at reading the ending. I suppose that this is supposed to contrast the social taboos of incest and inter-caste sex. In the culture of the time and place of this book, inter-caste sex was as taboo as incest. The man's own father offers to kill his son over the shame of crossing caste boundaries. Perhaps the contrast is supposed to shock readers out of their own societal norms. While there is much symbolism and social commentary stuffed into the story, it contrasted poorly with the incongruous childlike narrative. If highlighting the prejudices of the caste system was the main focus of the book, then I would have rather read a story that focused on Ammu and Velutha.

Overall, the story never seemed real. The characters never came alive for me. I never got pulled into the story. I never saw beyond the words on the page enough to believe they were anything more than a contrived story. And a messy vulgar one at that. I know that seems harsh. But I didn't like this book at all, and I won't pretend to. Clearly many people were moved by this book. And clearly I was not meant to be among those numbers.
 (hide spoiler)]

Edit 10/14/15:
After reading this book and writing my review, I read through some other reviews. It seems that an alarming number of people feel the need to brandish their cruel streaks by going after anyone who didn't like this book with pitchforks and torches. Not identifying with a book that contains tragedy does NOT make a person an emotionless sociopath. To me, the emotion in this book seemed completely contrived. Edmund Wilson said that “No two persons ever read the same book.” And the book that I just read failed to inspire me due to the reasons I have listed in my review.

This review fulfills the "Book Set in a Different Country" category of the Popsugar reading challenge. http://www.popsugar.com/love/Reading-...

coriander

This is a beautiful, bittersweet story written in some of the most creative imaginative humorous and sweet language you've ever tasted. Highly recommended for anyone who likes a grand tale of childhood adventure in the midst of family turmoil.

Winner of the Booker Prize

God of Small Things

EPIC is the one word I can say about this novel. 

                   It portrayed how STRUCTURE in society dictates the lives of people who doesn't want to fall in line with it.  Best thing it it showed in RAW / NAKED view of some of the communists and communism that is Indianized meaning they are not sure themselves whether they are progressive / regressive !  K.N.M.Pillai's character is example of that. 

 It has dealt in great detail many deep rooted social issues in India and specifically in state of Kerala and succeeded in it. Enjoyed reading. 

                Ammacchi's has no issue / concern when her son has sexual needs and had an affair with many of his factory workers from different communities, whereas she suddenly worries a lot about family name / honor to save when her daughter has same sexual urge and had a relationship with her childhood friend from lower caste.  Many more of Dogma's in our society are questioned through the plot of this novel. 

        I can give some break and re-read it again.  Definitely worth my time and #mustread .

Rajesh

EPIC is the one word I can say about this novel. 

                   It portrayed how STRUCTURE in society dictates the lives of people who doesn't want to fall in line with it.  Best thing it it showed in RAW / NAKED view of some of the communists and communism that is Indianized meaning they are not sure themselves whether they are progressive / regressive !  K.N.M.Pillai's character is example of that. 

 It has dealt in great detail many deep rooted social issues in India and specifically in state of Kerala and succeeded in it. Enjoyed reading. 

                Ammacchi's has no issue / concern when her son has sexual needs and had an affair with many of his factory workers from different communities, whereas she suddenly worries a lot about family name / honor to save when her daughter has same sexual urge and had a relationship with her childhood friend from lower caste.  Many more of Dogma's in our society are questioned through the plot of this novel. 

        I can give some break and re-read it again.  Definitely worth my time and #mustread .

Rohan Uddin

Beautifully written. Each word needs to be gone through slowly and then eaten like a sweet drop. The language and the compelling narrative makes it a winner.

Madhuri jain

The god of small things touches several social issues that exist in our society. It describes how much expensive it is to live a free spirited life. We are bounded by lots of rules where it is decided how much we should love, whom we should love. If you are not ready to abide by the laws, you should be ready to pay the price. It beautifully describes how a person gets used to his/her surrounding that after sometime that person does not realise any wrong doings.(Mammachi's character) It is a story about free spirited Ammu and her twins. The author has touched upon the lives of all the characters in detail and tried to justify their nature based on the circumstances they have gone through. It is a very sad story but well described. At some places, it was focusing on irrelevant details. Overall I liked the book.

Amy Thibodeau

I struggled to get into this book. Throughout, I found the writing to be clever and unique but I felt like the carrot of what the terror was dangled too long to keep me moving forward. But I loved the last 1/3 of the book and now I want to read it all over again to see what I missed. 

I almost feel like this book functions like an impressionist painting. While I was in it, I couldn't see the entire thing and found it frustrating. But by the end, I felt deeply connected to the story and to the characters.

Aboobacker Sidheeq M

A multi generation story of 60' s Kerala Christian family from Aymanam, Kottayam. Writing is like poetric& interesting. ' Love is a feeling & Sex is a need '.

Finished The God of Small Things. Amazing book, it's heartbreaking and funny at the same time. 

If he touched her, he couldn’t talk to her, if he loved her he couldn’t leave, if he spoke he couldn’t listen, if he fought he couldn’t win.

tracedecay 

Finished The God of Small Things. Amazing book, it's heartbreaking and funny at the same time. 

If he touched her, he couldn’t talk to her, if he loved her he couldn’t leave, if he spoke he couldn’t listen, if he fought he couldn’t win.

Found this quite challenging to read, but I can see why it is well loved by many readers.

Marion R

kate humphreys 

i loved this novel so unbelievably much, it was so beautiful and heartbreaking. i am debating switching this to 5 stars but i don’t give those often so i still don’t know. it took me a while to really get into it but the audiobook was amazing and i’m so excited to read this again in the fall :)


update: (upon second reading) just finished this masterpiece for the second time as i had to read it for lit 202, reading this again was such an experience and the audiobook was truly beautiful. i don’t know what it is about roy’s writing but wow does she know how to put words together. very excited to write a paper on this and HIGHLY recommend to everyone

The God of Small Things

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